


Look At Me

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dark, Erotic, F/M, Introspection, One Shot, Pining, Rough Sex, Trauma, breath play, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: "Carrie rolls on top of Quinn and her hair creates a golden curtain around his face. He feels like he’s in a museum or someplace fancy and sacred. She smiles, but she’s someone else again and he isn’t certain who. Or maybe she’s just someplace else. Her eyes gleam and in the shadows now they are gray. The world loses color and his sense of touch is heightened."Carrie and Quinn seek pleasure and connection with one another in the ways with which they are familiar.
Relationships: Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	Look At Me

In the dim light of a dingy motel room, Quinn studies her.

From slightly different angles, she could be completely different people. Curled on her side, she’s eternally young, practically teenaged. She nibbles her cuticles and seems half a world away, running laps around imaginary planets in her mind. She rolls onto her back, and in profile, she’s so much older, practically ancient. She exhales a heavy sigh and the weight of her spirit crushes her back down into the mattress.

Quinn’s never questioned why they were all obsessed with her. Berenson. Estes. They’d trip over their dicks just to kneel before her and lick her feet. It pissed Dar Adal the fuck off; he didn’t get it. But Quinn had understood from the moment he saw her. He’d watched Saul follow her like a dumb dog and wondered if the old fuck was going to stroke out from the way he focused on her. Bunch of drooling idiots; he’d never wanted to be like them, but he got it.

Her energy magnetizes, mesmerizes. Put anyone in a room with her and they feel it. Take it away, and they want it, they crave it, they’ll make themselves crazy trying to get it back. But she’s elusive as rain in the dessert and distant as starlight when you’re staring up and dreaming of home.

“Where are you, Carrie?” He strokes her arm and she turns to look at him. Then, she’s just Carrie. Carrie with haunted, blue-green eyes and a phony smile.

“I’m right here,” she says and tosses a leg over him. He wishes he could explain how she is capable of making eye contact, but doesn’t quite look at him. He’d turn himself inside out to find the right angle.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she scoffs. She puts a hand on his lower abdomen and attempts to distract him as she moves it lower.

“I can also tell when you’re trying to change the subject,” he grumbles, but he’s already getting hard in her hand.

“But I can be persuasive,” she says and his response is to grab her breast and pinch her nipple rather hard. Carrie yelps. “Dammit, Quinn,” she hisses and bites his neck.

“Guess it’s an occupational habit of fucking a spy,” he says.

“What is? Being rough?”

“No. Persuasion and tells,” he says. Part of him wants to tell her she’s pretty. Another part of him wants to tell her she’s the most fucking gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. He says neither thing.

She rolls on top of him and her hair creates a golden curtain around his face. He feels like he’s in a museum or someplace fancy and sacred. Maybe he's someplace he doesn't belong. He doesn't care. She smiles, but she’s someone else again and he isn’t certain who. Or maybe she’s just someplace else. Her eyes gleam and in the shadows now they are gray. The world loses color and his sense of touch is heightened. He cups her ass as she slides on to him, carelessly, wordlessly. Maybe they’re still drunk. There’s no consent. There’s no condom. He could fucking care less and she certainly doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck.

Someone else, somewhere else, Quinn doesn’t care. He takes what the moment offers, takes what he needs, and he gives what he knows how to give.

She breathes heavy in his ear, she pants against his neck as she rides him. Kissing is not in their repertoire, but biting and pinching and hair pulling are. They scratch one another and groan deafeningly loud. Their fucking is rough, almost violent.

Brody had been a lucky, fucking bastard. Quinn thinks this every time he’s with Carrie because he knows Carrie loved Brody and he knows Carrie doesn’t love him. Not like that. Not even like she loves Saul. He bites the tendon in her neck and flips her onto her back so he is on top. She worships Saul, probably because Saul knows how to hurt her deep and hard. He’s never seen two people so adept at wounding one another.

Quinn doesn’t want to hurt her, but he thrusts into her with bruising force. Her eyes are closed. Her mouth opens wide with pleasure. It's not quite enough. He puts his hands on her throat and she opens her eyes, pupils dilated with the thrill of it. He stares down at her and tries to make her look at him and him alone, tries to make everyone else disappear. He bites his own lips as he tries to fuck them all out of her and create space for himself, and himself alone. She squeezes herself around him as he squeezes her throat.

“Do it,” he growls in her ear. He feels her swell and build around him as he relaxes his hands and she climaxes. With a breathy moan, she throws her arms around him and clings to him until he finishes. “Fuck,” he pants.

“That was…” she breaths through a wild smile.

“Yeah,” he says. Their fragmented sentences speak volumes. Questions scratch under the surface of his skull, but she’s already getting up and dressing. She checks her phone and turns to him.

“Hey, there’s a text from Saul. It looks like Max might have gotten something off of that computer we found! Come on, we gotta get back!” She beams like the moon.

“Right,” he says and swings his legs over the side of the bed. As he pulls his pants on, she texts Saul back. When she looks up at Quinn, she’s there in her eyes, looking at him from the exact right angle where he can see all the dreams that will never belong to him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not typically my ship, and yet this little one shot came to me and I had to get it down... I appreciate all kudos and comments so very much, and especially value any chances now for connection and communication. Thank you so much for taking your time to be here. xoxo.


End file.
